And we're back.
I've been gone for awhile, sorry about that. To spare y'all the fine details, I've had some pretty profound health issues the past few years that I've been coping with. I also got married, to another Bubbline author at that (Hi Plesiosaur!)
It's been pretty distracting, but I always planned to return to OA, and I still plan to finish it and Headliner. The show must go on, and all that.
TW Warnings:
Naked ladies
Everything that comes with being two naked ladies
An incredibly bad joke that I've been planning since Rehearsal
Minor implication of PTSD that I'm sure will have absolutely no importance to future chapters
New player!
She floated. Without effort, without thought, without ambition, she floated. Those were foreign concepts in this space, this sanctum that she visited oh-so rarely. It had been so long since she had last entered the sanctuary, this place of wonder that existed only within her own soul. Only, that wasn't true, was it? It wasn't just her own soul; it took two, this space, because in exchange for the cessation of worries - of thoughts, or anything, really - she gained vulnerability, exposure. Which meant she had to trust, with the great irony being that the only person who could open the door to this paradise was the one person who, by all logic, she should trust the least.
But Marceline Abadeer was not a woman of logic. She understood it, or at least of it, contrary to popular opinion. She also wholly disregarded it. Where was the point of it? The best things came from her gut, those thoughtless choices that some base instinct knew and whispered in her mind. Simon had told her once, back when the world was dangerous to her and she didn't have fangs or claws, that sapient beings were able to absorb information subconsciously and thus could also make decisions in the same way. He envied her, in a weary but none-the-less proud way, that Marceline felt so comfortable letting that part of her mind, that 'lizard brain' as he called it then, guide her.
At the moment, though, Simon wasn't on Marceline Abadeer's mind. In fact, nothing was, and it was bliss. Ever since the moment Bonnibel Bubblegum had first demanded she take up her father's amulet she had been nothing but a raw nerve. She had been exhausted on a deep, almost metaphysical level. She had been in pain in parts of her soul that she had forgotten she possessed. For now, though, this was what she knew: her mind was mercifully quiet, she was safe, and she was warm. If she focused she thought she might be purring, but she was too comfortable to care about such matters and the curiosity blinked out as quickly as it was formed.
Over a period of minutes or eons her senses returned to her, so gradually that, even if bribed, she would not be able to recall what returned in what order, what stimuli summoned her higher thoughts to push her out of her comfortable mental floating decide and into Reality. She growled once she realized it was happening, but the objection elicited only a giggle. "There you are," came from above her. Marceline slid an eye half open, then squinted it. Bonnibel looked far too amused, bordering on smug, and the vampire bared her fangs in response from the safety of her thoughtless relaxation.
The princess hummed in apparent amusement, and when Marceline felt fingers run up her neck and through her hair it was swiftly followed by her eyes rolling in the back of her head and closing. You win this round, she thought with a hiss that didn't even convince herself. It was hard to sound intimidating, even within the privacy of her own mind, when she was firmly snuggled against the candy golem and wrapped in blankets like an undead burrito. Pink fingers continued to trail downward, tracing tender bruises and poorly-closed wounds that had not been there before the pair had gone to bed the night before. If Marceline had the energy to blush, she would have. Instead she settled for burying her face into Bonnibel's chest in surrender.
"Are you hungry?" The question made Marceline's ear twitch. Or maybe that was just the almost imperceptible touch against the shell of her ear. Bonnibel separated herself and Marceline grunted to indicate her displeasure. Then she saw Bonnibel drop the blanket she had draped over herself, baring her shoulders. The vampire's eyes widened, a silent plea, and Bonnibel kissed the ear. With permission granted she wasted no time, burying her fangs and drinking the pink with equal parts love and greed.
Bonnibel laughed with soft affection, holding the older woman against her. They were both still nude, but whereas Marceline felt the bruises and abrasions that decorated her body with every fond caress Bonnibel remained flawless as ever. Except for the growing grey spot from which the demon fed. Only when she was full - and resisting the urge to apologize for how much pink she had needed to take - did Marceline kiss the wound she had made and rest against the offered shoulder, purring under gently ministrations against the back of her neck. What time is it?, she wondered, but voicing the question would invite The Rest of the World in and shatter their intimacy.
Instead that honor went to Peppermint Butler.
"Your Majesty," he began with far too much smugness for creature who was nothing but food. He pushed the door to Bonnibel's chambers closed and Marceline felt a surge of indignation strike through her at the interruption of her private time with her favorite person. A growl tore through her chest, starting within her heart and escaping through gritted teeth. "Ah… Your Majesty?," he inquired with a quiver in his voice, shrinking into himself. She detached herself from the princess and struck, pinning the candy creation to the floor with one hand. He yelped and she preened at the noise of her prey subjugated to its proper place. Under her claws.
The vambracer on her arm offered a pulse of warmth moments before a firm voice admonished her, "Marceline," with a sigh. Marceline huffed, neither letting the candy man up nor feasting on his red stripes. He looked scared, and that was delicious enough. For the moment. The bed creaked as its second occupant rose, the candy golem stopping beside the the demon to place her hand on the back of her neck. "Pep," and she sounded… sympathetic? The tone was disgusting in the vampire's ears. "I warned you this could happen if you came in before… well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Marcy, please let him up." Marceline huffed once more, narrowing her eyes at the small man. And he was- "-hardly a threat, is he? Now please, release him. You know him."
Peppermint Butler gasped in relief when Marceline released him and retreated back to the warmth of the bed, slipping under the duvet. "Thank you, Your Highness," he shivered, checking himself for injuries. "I will be more mindful in the future, thank you, yes."
Marceline snickered.
He dusted himself off, ignoring her in evident favor of trying to regain some form of dignity. "As I was, saying," he began with an eye to the bed, "I apologize for interrupting your… celebrations," he spat, "but I wanted to provide you with an update."
Bonnibel hummed and strode languidly back to the bed. "Perfect, thank you, Pep. As for you," and Marceline felt green eyes level in her direction. A comforter was a useless shield indeed. "I know every instinct in you says otherwise, but please refrain from disemboweling anyone for the moment." Syrup sweet words, punctuated with nails raking down a marred grey back. Marceline hadn't even felt the hand slide under the blanket. "Every time…" Bonnibel murmured affectionately, an errant strand of black hair wrapping around her pinky.
Marceline nuzzled into her lap and closed her eyes. Mine, she hissed within the confines of her mind, where a demon's pride and greed would not be chastised.
The princess gently scratched at the back of her queen's scalp. "You were saying, Pep?," she asked, almost apologetically.
Peppermint Butler coughed. "Yes, thank you, Your Highness. Your guest list is ready for approval and for Ms. Abadeer's additions. Finn and Jake have taken it upon themselves to provide…" he sighed, "recommendations for caterers that should meet your standards and Ms. Abadeer's dietary needs. I…," Peppermint Butler hesitated, for a moment at least, "investigated your preference for the venue-"
Marceline opened her eye at that.
"-and are you sure that is what-"
Before Marceline could event begin to rise the gentle, pink hand paused its ministrations, pressing two fingers against the unmarred side of her neck. The vambracer pulsed soothing warmth. A warning and a promise, all in one. The vampire relaxed, nuzzling the leg under her cheek in silent deferral.
"Yes, Pep. That is where we want our wedding to be."
It was still such an odd thing to hear, 'our wedding'. Marceline had let Bonnibel lead the charge in setting the stage for this performance, after a conversation that she had expected to be so much more charged - and frightening - than it ever came close to being. The candy golem had always had a conflicted opinion about marriage. Princess Bubblegum proclaimed it to be a necessary evil in order to cement her much coveted position of power and domination in Ooo. Legal pomp and circumstance, a stage play meant to celebrate her being shackled to another who would always vie for her power and her authority, unless she removed them from the equation first. Beneath that megalomania was Bonnibel herself, the demon's centuries-long best friend. She denied the romanticism of a union just as vehemently as she clung to the ideal of it, that story-book tale of two souls bound by mutual trust and genuine affection.
Princess Bubblegum saw marriage as a means to an end. The candy golem had been certain she would only ever be wed to seal her authority in a necessary and loveless pact. She had wedding plans crafted to wait for the inevitable, little more than schemes that allowed her to channel her disgust into a machination that would allow her to get ahead of whatever plot her over-active mind imagined. In the absence of a worthy enemy the wily Princess Bubblegum was capable of inventing its own. And the threat of someone taking what was her's constituted the greatest threat of all.
The possibility that her paramour might shed her bachelor and hard rock lifestyle had never been an idea that Bonnibel would allow herself the luxury of considering. It was too heartbreaking, knowing it would never be. The idea that she would marry for love had been a thrilling idea, maybe even a guilty fantasy, but nothing more. Until it happened. Until Marceline had not only requested her hand but had done so with a pageantry that demanded the attention of all of Ooo. Their embrace graced every tabloid in the land, and her phone had rung incessantly until the demon had ripped it from the wall.
One moment she was all bared fangs and snarling malice, but under the younger woman's eye the violence melted away. She was left the shy rocker Bonnibel had always known, rubbing the back of her neck and muttering bashfully through her growing blush that she would rather the candy woman take the lead on the wedding plans. That she trusted her. That she knew Bonnibel had never anticipated a strings-free marriage. That she wanted her to be happy, and to design the day to reflect her wants, not what her responsibilities demanded of her.
In response, Bonnibel ground her into their mattress.
Marceline spent the night pinned to the bed, heart gripped by a supple and soft pink leather collar that gave the vampire an uncanny sense of deja vu when she saw it. There had been tears in the candy monarch's eyes as she had fastened it to her fiancee, and the kiss that followed had been just as much demanding as it was begging. "You're mine," the princess had vowed, "the best part of me."
By morning the trophies she earned after that had yet to heal. She hadn't let them, too lost in the haze of what was happening around her, to her. In the back of her mind she knew that there had been breaks for food and rest and cleanliness, those type of necessities. The wedding plans were progressing around her, though she scarcely recollected the finer details. In its place there was a crimson haze curtaining her thoughts that demanded she not let Bonnibel out of her sight, that she kill any interloper first and ask questions later. Like her hard-won injuries, she did not rest long enough for that to de-manifest, either.
Peppermint Butler really needed to learn to knock. If nothing else, for his own safety.
"-checked the archives, and I'm afraid this situation was simply not foreseen in the kingdom's earliest days," the candy creation said. He sounded distressed, hissing under his breath like a petulant teenager.
Marceline nearly zoned out again, warm snuggled against her favorite person, when her favorite person's voice shattered her reverie. "Marcy?"
"Oh, your Highness, I'm sure-"
Marceline crawled out from under the blankets, pushing the plush pink softness away from her upper body. "Mm?" Her eyes flickered to the candy mint when he continued to mutter soft objections to her presence. Hello, prey.
"None of that, now. Up here, please." Marceline rolled her eyes, but obliged by rolling onto her back. Even masking her exhaustion - and wasn't that a compliment - Bonnibel was beautiful, and a purr rumbled deep in her chest at the sight. "Thank you. I'll need your mind for a bit, I'm afraid," she admitted with a sad smile.
Marceline immediately tried to retreat under the blanket. When it was yanked away, ripping the precious warmth from the vampire in what could only be retribution, she hissed at the candy scientist. Bonnibel responded by arching an eyebrow, lip threatening to quirk upwards. "Dun wanna," Marceline grumbled and turned her head away, as if that would hide the blush in her cheeks. "Comfy."
Bonnibel continued as if deaf to the objection. "Pep has hit an impasse in searching the Candy Kingdom Archives, and I need your help."
"Fiiiine," she groaned, nuzzling into Bonnibel's leg. Her mind was foggy, making the temptation to sink back into the princess's unique warmth and softness almost irresistible. I deserve a medal for this sacrifice.
Peppermint Butler cleared his throat, waiting until Marceline opened a lazy eye to regard him before speaking. "As you know, this union will enable Her Highness to begin the process to ascend as Queen-"
"Thanks, Captain Exposition."
"-but in order to legalize such a process we need to ascertain-"
"Skip to the end, Pep," she growled.
"…Yes, very well. When two monarchs wed in Ooo there are certain laws that must be abided by, dependent on each kingdom's bylaws, so dictated in their founding documents. Quite simply, we have no copy of the Nightosphere's business plan in the Archives." She tensed. "In order to avoid a conflict of interest between two foreign nationals we need to know what the Nightosphere has decreed regarding you marrying. Your rank and role and privileges," he waved his hand dismissively, "what stays your hand from attempting to usurp Her Majesty-"
Marceline didn't remember moving. She didn't remember slamming Peppermint Butler into the wall, nor did she remember breaking her own fingers in favor of taloned claws. She was beside herself, observing herself from afar and outside of herself. She was in the bedroom she shared with Bonnibel, but it was overlayed with somewhere else: that same room, but wrong, with the wrong colors and the wrong furniture and the wrong layout-
Or was she wrong? It started a nick of a thought in the back of her brain, but it didn't stop eating away at her consciousness. Soon she wasn't seeing Peppermint Butler, her mind's eye a desperate mess of tangled overlays. She had been in the throne room yesterday, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what Bonnibel's throne looked like. Last week she had cleaned up the lab as a surprise for the overworked monarch. But why was the smell of chemicals and rust so firmly rooted in her memor-
"MARCELINE. NO."
The floor rushed to meet her and she greeted it in a daze. "…Bon?," she slurred, rubbing her temple only to wince when she found talons where her fingers should be.
She blinked, only to find the princess on top of her. "Good, Marcy, that's good," she praised gently, green eyes capturing her gaze and a pink hand clasping her claws. "It's okay now. You're okay."
What happened? That was a dangerous question, her subconscious whispered. She voiced it anyway. She neglected to mention that of all things she felt in that moment powerful was at the top of the list.
"Pep's fine," Bonnibel emphasized. It didn't answer Marceline's question."I sent him out. He should have known better than to accuse you…," she muttered to herself before returning her focus to the vampire. "Can you turn these back?" Marceline glanced down at her hands, her stomach curling into itself. "Oh… sorry." It was a quick rectification, but one that caused that sinking feeling to curdle like acid. Claws were weapons, and weapons were made to destroy. You have the power to, some dark part of her mind whispered. "Bon… did I…?"
"No," Bonnibel stated. "Look at me, Marceline," she demanded when the demon started to drift into herself, and what could she do but obey? "You didn't hurt anyone, or anything."
The vampire bit her lip, feeling guilty for the thought that followed that assertion. You could, though. You wanted to. It felt right, didn't it? "But I wanted to," she acknowledged after a moment of silence, closing her eyes. They were so dry.
"Marcy…" There was a hesitation, as if something else was meant to follow. Instead Bonnibel pulled her flush against herself, grey skin to pink. "Do you see any wounds on me?," she asked. In truth, Marceline didn't need to look. She was a vampire, after all, she could smell blood, taste it in the very air. Except that there was no blood in this air, and when she buried her face against Bonnibel's shoulder she felt the same warmth she always did. Not the heat of a poorly-patched wound, or the cool absence of blood loss. Blessed normality. Her head shook.
"That's right," Bonnibel assured as she stroked her hair, "everything is alright. You're okay, little bat. I'm perfectly safe. Perhaps some part of you does want to, but have you ever wanted to hurt me?" The question made her grimace and bristle. "I didn't think so. I'm not worried. You're still you. All of you is just you." A finger hooked into the collar and tugged it. And you're mine, went unspoken.
Marceline found her arms wrapped around the younger woman with no recollection of moving. I'm sorry, she thought. I'm sorry that this is me. As if sensing her thoughts the vambracer against her arm gave a small hum of warmth, forcing a shiver out of the demon and her fingers to twitch. I'm sorry that I don't hate it.
Bonnibel didn't ask what happened, nor did she ask if Marceline wanted to talk about the experience. What she did do was kiss her forehead and cup her cheek, waiting for the vampire to relax inch by inch. Somehow Marceline found herself leaning against the princess, half awake and with their fingers intwined, anxieties lulled by the metronome of the candy golem's steady heartbeat. "Now," the younger monarch began after a time, "are you ready to continue?"
"…Pep?"
"I sent him to assist Finn and Jake. He's perfectly fine." Marceline wasn't convinced, but what could she do? She still wasn't entirely sure what had happened or why; such episodes of violent disassociation were becoming mercifully rare, but no less dangerous. The desire, though, that relishing in the knowledge of what she was capable of? That was new. She could only trust Bonnibel's word that she hadn't destroyed anyone or anything this time. "Though, as for what he was saying-"
The vampire grunted and mumbled, "We both know I wouldn't take your kingdom, Bon."
She sighed, "Marceline, I'm hardly concerned with that. You've made your stance on royal biz very known. Further, to be quite blunt, in order for someone to take the Candy Kingdom they would have to go through me." Her hand trailed from the grey cheek cupped in her palm, tracing the sharp jawline. "And though you may possess the strength, you don't possess the will."
True, Marceline mused.
"If the Nightosphere's business isn't located in its proper location-" a fact the candy princess stated with clear irritation "-then we have two alternative courses of action. The first is to approach your father to request a duplicate copy."
The very suggestion elicited an aggravated groan from Marceline. "No. Nope. No way. Uh uh. Absolutely not. Never. Can't make me. Not going. Gross plan-"
"Okay, okay, you've made your point, Marceline."
"Did I? 'Cause I got more."
"Yes, thank you. As I was saying, the second course of action is that we have an alternate plan drafted that you agree to."
"Can you just write something up and forge my name?"
"Marceline. First, that's illegal-"
Never stopped you before, Marceline thought, laughing under her breath. The tension in her chest bled away.
"-and secondly, I can't be the one to draft it. It would represent a conflict of interest for one of the parties to also be the author of the draft, or to even be a resident of either kingdom!"
"And that's… bad?"
"Legally, yes."
"And that's… bad?"
"You're not helping, Marceline, and do not say it," she demanded, watching the older woman grin. "This is important. It assures our marriage is inviolable."
The demon groaned again, her smile dropping. She was beginning to realize that this wasn't a task she was escaping. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Important royal gunk is interrupting my 'me' time. So what do we need to do?"
"Thank you for your sacrifice. I will need to confer with Pep to find a lawyer with considerable experience in both diplomatic and business law who is willing to meet with two foreign nationals who are pending marriage."
Levity fell away from Marceline, a candlewax shield melting from the warm flutter in her chest. Ah, crud, she thought, unwilling to stop the flicker of disappointment left in the wake of her teasing her lover. In her own manner Bonnibel had allowed Marceline to celebrate their impending wedding in the way the vampire had always wanted, a desire so secret she hadn't even realize it: being allowed to release a piece of her she kept under lock and key in a cage of silver. An ugly, possessive, demanding part, born from demonic genome and a legacy of taking what was wanted at the expense of the world.
She had been allowed to not think and not allowed to judge herself for it. The freedom expressed itself in days lost to instinctive carnality, interlaced with moments of tenderness and acceptance. But those days had only been lost to her. Bonnibel had indulged in that freedom - Marceline would accept nothing less, thank you very much - but had also shouldered the burden of executing her own vision, experiencing her own lived dream.
Except. Alone.
Bonnibel had gifted Marceline freedom to indulge, but left herself to handle everything on her own. It made Marceline grimace against the unfamiliar feeling of her demonic pride being wounded, knowing she had left her mate so alone. The feeling swelling within her wasn't pain, per se. Demons - like all Nightosphere denizens - were well-versed in the sensation of pain and either learned to relish in it or numb themselves to it. Instead the feeling was slime wrapping around her soul, coiling and writhing. Cold and hollow, as if something was missing, some warmth she had come to rely on without realizing it. It was a cautionary tale. It was a reminder.
It was hard to deny that Bonnibel sounded tired, and that was not something she showed easily. Even in front of Marceline, showing weakness without an elaborate and a well-practiced duet was anathema to Bonnibel, who could not admit to fatigue was to admit to weakness, and to admit that would be to admit so much, too much, too soon. Of course Bonnibel wanted control of the minute details of the wedding, and no one could deny that she thrived in that position. But was being left to her own devices, unobserved and - Glob forbid - untempered what she needed?
Marceline knew better than that. And until now, she had thought herself a better mate than that.
"Chill Bon," she chortled, softening the blow of those two words with a nudge to the candy golem's shoulder. "I got this one." I'm sorry.
A side glance regarded her suspiciously. "Do you now? And how might that be?"
"Because I know just the guy!"
Suspicion bloomed into disbelief, Bonnibel's mouth quirking to the side with some repressed snarky comment. "Do you," she stated.
"Come on, BonBon," Marceline implored, snaking around the princess and wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Would I lie to yo-"
"Yes."
"Okay, fair enough. But would I lie about this?"
"…No, you wouldn't," Bonnibel admitted with some small reluctance, relaxing in her queen's embrace. Grey fingers splayed against her stomach. "This is important, Marcy-"
"I know, Bonnie," she murmured, kissing her ear. "I know. But it's important to both of us, right?"
As if only now considering such a claim, Bonnibel took a breath, held it, then exhaled. With it went the rigidity held in her back and shoulders. "…Yes, that's true."
"Let me give him a call, 'kay? Take a breath and chill for me. I've got this one." With one last playful nip to her shoulder Marceline slid off of the bed, searching her memory for where she last saw her cell phone. She found it on the desk, sat next to Bonnibel's and charging, and smirked at the simple gesture of thoughtfulness. The contact was saved in her phone under the label 'Bureaucrat Grade 1.0' and when he picked up the phone he showed no surprise to hear from her. Oh sure, he began the conversation with a sigh of exasperation, which evolved into bafflement and peevishness in no short order once she had explained the task at hand.
His tune changed when Marceline's tactics did. An offer of double his normal fee and an indication that a satisfactory job could lead to his having an exclusive contract with the Nightosphere cemented an appointment that very evening, with far less complaining than when the conversation began. "Alright Bon," Marceline began as she sat her phone back where she found it, "we're all set."
Bonnibel didn't respond. Sometime during Marceline's conversation Bonnibel had leaned against the headboard to wait and dozed off. Blanket tucked around her lap, head lolled to the side, breathing soft and even; how could Marceline feel anything at such a sight but calm? Without a sound she floated to the younger woman's side, maneuvering her onto her back inch by inch, not risking a single offensive jostle. Blankets were wrapped around her to shield her from the waking world, the pillow fluffed as much as Marceline dared. She pressed her forehead to the pink woman's, willing her to stay sleeping, stay resting, just this once.
For her it was shower time. It wasn't the easiest thing, floating away from Bonnibel as she slept so soundly and invitingly. But hadn't Marceline just promised to take care of this issue? Nuts to you, Past Marceline. You suck. Tearing her eyes away from such a tantalizing sight was itself a torture, but the bathroom was soundproof and granted the vampire a small mercy: yelling into her hands. She gasped, "there", afterwards. "I feel better. Alright, let's get this junk over with. Shower time." Intrusively, cruelly, the memory of the previous night struck and lit her veins, undeath be damned. "…Cold shower time."At least Bonnibel's shower was still a treasure. You still love me, at least. You're still on my side, she praised the plumbing.
How long it took Marceline couldn't exactly say, but under the cleansing rains of the most well-designed shower in the history of sapient beings the demon felt her mind clear. The red haze of demonic urges did not go quietly, driven back with snarls and bites and misplaced emotions that made their home on grey skin, courtesy of fang and claw. They healed as expediently as they were made because they were a necessary evil, something to 'work out' as it were, untouchable by logic or reason. She could only feel the rollercoaster through, paying it just enough attention to acknowledge what it - and what she - was, that it was not something to be controlled or stopped. Just enough attention, yes, but without encouraging the feelings or allowing them to take root.
Now more in control of her faculties she exhaled in relief, reluctantly admitting that she missed the feeling of Being People. Only to herself, of course. She wasn't insane, that was her little secret. The very idea of acknowledging any alternative made her snort with derision as she dried and dressed for the rest of the day. She exited the bathroom as quietly as she could, but Bonnibel was already awake, dressed and at her desk. Marceline tilted her head. "I wasn't gone for that long."
Bonnibel addressed her without turning. A quill was in her hand, scribbling away at a sheet of paper. "Mm. No," the princess agreed, "you weren't."
"But you're already out of bed and working?" Marceline crossed her arms and hoped the gesture showed in her voice.
Evidently it did, because Bonnibel turned in her seat. At least she had the good sense to look less-than-proud of what she was doing. "I was just finalizing my half of the guest list."
"Uh huh. What happened to the nap I left you with?" All of her hard work to assure the princess could rest, ruined.
Bonnibel wrung her hands. "…It's important."
"Totes, naps rock."
Pink lips pressed into a fine line. "Marceline-" Then miracle of miracles, Bonnibel stopped herself. "You're right," she sighed. "I…"
'I'm sorry'. It was what she was going to say, but those two little words were beyond Princess Bubblegum, and right now, they were beyond Bonnibel, too. Marceline's expression softened and she was at her beloved's side, her hand resting over the pink one that held the quill, her chin perching on the princess's shoulder. An urge nearly overcame the demon, to rip that quill away and toss it out the window, or to tear it apart with her claws, but what would that prove? Only something wretched. "I know this is important," Marceline assured her princess soothingly, rubbing her thumb against the slender wrist so nearly in her grasp, "but so is not overworking yourself."
"It's… vital," Bonnibel grumbled in pitiable defense, turning away from her queen.
"It is," Marceline agreed once more. "But you can let go of it, just for a bit, right Bon?" The quill was grasped tighter. "You can let go," the vampire murmured against her cheek, injecting as much warmth as she could into her voice. "You won't fall, Bon. I won't let you." Bonnibel's jaw clenched and her breathing quickened, but Marceline didn't move, pressing no further. At last, long last, the candy scientist loosened her grip on her quill in silent acquiesce and Marceline kissed her jaw, emphasizing the gesture with a purr. "Thank you. See? Not so scary."
Bonnibel wanted to object, that much was evident by the way her eyes darted back to the quill. Unfortunately for her, Marceline was faster, as was the nature of an apex predator. The older woman slid herself into the chair between the wood and its occupant, grinning deviously at the princess's quite unladylike yelp, "Marceline!"
"Yes?," she inquired innocently, wrapping her arms around her fiancee's waist. The candy golem sat atop her lap now, trapped within her grasp. She squirmed, and Marceline tightened the embrace with a snigger. "Mine," she hissed with a soft laugh.
"Oh, yes, very funny," Bonnibel remarked dryly.
"Thanks, I thought so, too. I know, I'm the best." A gentle flick into her forehead and amused 'tsk' did not dissuade her. "You're welcome."
"I was trying to work," Bonnibel said, resting her head against her lover's shoulder. There was an uncharacteristic defeat in her voice that sounded something like relief, something like shame.
"And now you're not. Weird, right?" That earned her a swat upside the head, something that Marceline could only laugh at. "Okay, okay! Geez, man Bon, you've gotten mega violent! What kind've example are you setting for your candy peeps?"
"Marceline," Bonnibel growled. But there was a smile there, hiding at the corners of her mouth. It was the most beautiful thing Marceline had ever seen.
"Just sayin'," she shrugged. "It's got 'scandal' written all over it, you know? Violence inherent in the system and all that junk. I could write something really awesome about that actually- BON WHAT THE FUDGE?!"
Bonnibel Bubblegum would deny it for the rest of her life, but Marceline Abadeer knew the truth. To silence the truth in her words, the candy princess had taken the vampire's temporary lapse in attention, her moment of lowered guard, and bitten her shoulder. Marceline Abadeer yelped, and then flushed at the sound she had made, before retaliating because Bonnibel - her Bonnibel - looked oh-so-smug about what she had done and Marceline could not have that, absolutely not. But more importantly, and this they could agree on, this spar - tackling the younger woman out of the chair, fleeing back to the bed, the wrestling for better vantage point, assaulting one another with pillows, stalking and tackling and taunting jests - it was all so familiar. It reminded both of them of when they were younger, of when they had been in that awkward stage of their relationship: too close to be friends, but not yet ready to admit the truth of it all.
They had both fallen back into old games and ribbings without effort and laughed without thought. Joy came easily and they didn't care about What Came Next, only winning some made up competition against the other's favorite opponent. Bonnibel's crown lay on her desk an insignificant trinket, and Marceline forgot to be ashamed of her talons and fangs. Marceline could not see Princess Bubblegum, only her best friend and soulmate. And how could Bonnibel ever fear Marceline?
Pillow-ammo depleted and energy expended, both had resorted to more hand-to-hand methods. Marceline grinned, not bothering to hide it, and Bonnibel tried in vain straighten her hair. It was a difficult task, fixing herself while keeping a wriggling shapeshifter pinned, but if she was nothing else she was extraordinary. "Stay there," she demanded. Only she could make catching her breath look dignified.
"Make me," Marceline countered with a smirk.
Bonnibel narrowed her eyes at the challenge, and Marceline felt smug. It lasted just long enough for her to be flipped onto her stomach and the wind to be knocked out of her. By the time she realized her position her wrists were pinned above her head and the self-righteous smile had migrated to Bonnibel, who sat on the older woman's legs, arching them at an uncomfortable angle, her free hand pressing into the small of her back. "You were saying?"
"…Rude, Bon. Just… you know? So rude," she responded with an eye roll.
"Truce?"
A mercy offer. Ugh. Embarrassing. "Yeah, yeah," Marceline grunted, trying her best to keep an appearance of being irritated. She was failing spectacularly, smile threatening to shine through. After all, Bonnibel had been working on that particular move for decades; how could Marceline be anything but proud? "Truce."
Bonnibel flicked her ear, as gently as she could, then released her vampire. "Thank you." It was so soft, even sharp vampiric hearing nearly missed it.
Marceline rolled over onto her back before pushing herself into a sitting position, then offered her hand to Bonnibel. The younger monarch glanced down at the open grey palm and took it. It pulled her against the queen in a firm embrace, one she returned. "I've got ya, Bon," she promised. When she stood she helped the candy golem rise with her. It was hard not to wait for a response to that comment, but then she had always been the sentimental one between the pair, hadn't she? To wait for Bonnibel to respond was to also demand a response, and who was to say the pink princess was ready for such a thing yet?
"Let me look at this thing-a-ma-jig." Marceline took her place in Bonnibel's chair, forcing herself to look at the guest list that had been drafted over the course of days. Oh Glob, it's got page numbers at the bottom. Inside, she screamed.
A warm hand rested on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I've divided the guest list,"she explained. Marceline breathed a sigh of relief. Judging by Bonnibel's pointed gaze, it was louder than she had intended. Nevertheless, she continued. "The foremost pages reflect royal guests from allied kingdoms and territories of the Candy Kingdom. The section that follows contains my own personal guests. In the very back you will find the chart designating a particular role, and the guest intended to fulfill it."
Marceline flipped through the pages as directed. Bonnibel's neat and tidy handwriting was reflected back in every letter, no name or role or title included without care. "So… what do you need me to do?"
"You have two tasks. Firstly, all three sections have abundant blank space. This is for you to add guests and allies of the Nightosphere-" Bonnibel ignored her raspberry "-as you see fit. By my standard, Marceline," she added quickly. Marceline pouted. "There is also space for you to add your own personal guests and, of course, for you to notate should there be any guest you wish to include in a particular role."
"Uh huh…" The booklet flipped close. "You said I have two things to do, though." Bonnibel didn't reply, which was never a good sign. Marceline frowned and searched her face for a hint. "Bon? Care to share?"
"…Before you reply-"
"Already hate it-"
"-please consider my request. For me."
There they were, the magic words. Marceline groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Low blow, Bon."
"Are there any traditions you wish to include?" Marceline tensed. "Traditions of your own. I'm… admittedly unsure if demons have their own traditions, and human traditions…," she trailed off from there and took Marceline's hand. "Just consider it. Please. I know how difficult the request is, and if it is too… well, if it's 'too', we don't have to, okay, Marcy? But… I'd like if you thought about it first."
"…Alright Bon," she sighed. For you.
"Thank you." Marceline's reward was a kiss to her cheek, and she cursed herself that such a thing still worked on her.
The task was the last thing she wanted to think about, now and maybe ever. A guest list? That was fine; Marceline had a wide circle of acquaintances, but close, personal friends were a scarcity by design. Immortality had a funny way of interfering with one's ability to form meaningful connections, and meaningful connections that could be forged and be trusted with her secrets? Nothing short of an anomaly. But Bonnibel was right, of course, in that a guest list for a wedding of this type wasn't just for sharing joy with loved ones, was it? It was a royal wedding, and one that many had bet would never occur. She knew, she'd seen the spread in underground betting houses.
Bonnibel would get to take the day to celebrate and silently state her intentions to rise the ranks of Ooo, and if Marceline could be of use of that, well, that was fine by her. But Marceline had her own ambitions, and they had nothing to do with political aspirations. She waited for Bonnibel to leave her to her assigned task and flipped straight to the list of foreign dignitaries to request the presence of. Without Bonnibel's warmth it was easy to shed the guise of being a civilized being and remind herself of what she was: an imposter. Tamed vampire though she was, there was no domesticating demons. Only channeling the urges into something useful.
How many would-be assassins had played at being hero only to forfeit their lives to Marceline's claws? How many mercenaries had she pried their contracts from by spilling their entrails? How many hunters saw Princess Bubblegum as a trophy to mount on their wall, underestimating the nightmare that lurks in her shadow? Too many, with more every year. Her couch was full of trophies, and though Marceline relished the hunt and kill a pattern had begun to emerge from her recent victories that spelled out quite plainly this: 'I only need to succeed once, you must succeed every time.'
Her own handwriting was a scrawl compared to Bonnibel's practiced script, but it was laborious to translate the names she had to summon to a more understandable tongue. Be it because of curiosity or some darker impulse, the invited would take her up on her offer, that she knew. And then she would make sure they understood. Topsiders celebrated romantic devotion with music and food, surrounded by dear ones and dreams of a hopeful future. That was their way. But Marceline was not a topsider. Her pledge of loyalty was not sweet nothings or whispered affections. It was a roar to shake the maelstrom, that should anyone dare suggest to touch who was her's she would rise to war. With her signature she declared her challenge: Try me, test me, and I will lay low the very souls of you and all your kith and kin.
She wrote her own invitations to the pernicious waltz and sealed them with her blood. Guests of a personal nature she wrote out as Bonnibel had requested, notating roles where indicated for her. When her phone buzzed she stopped writing. It saved her from needing to decide on the matter of 'traditions', so for once, she was grateful for the alarm. "Hey Bon?"
"Hm?"
Over her shoulder, Marceline saw Bonnibel was reviewing some parchment lined in gold filigree. It looked important. "Probs should have mentioned it before, but my guy was free tonight-" She frowned then, a thought occurring to her. "You didn't ask, actually. You know, when we're going and fuzz. What gives?"
Bonnibel had yet to look up from her document. "I saw no need. You promised you had the matter handled."
There was no soft tone or affection, just a statement of fact. Somehow, that made it mean more. Marceline pushed her chair back and floated to the princess. "Wanna take that thing with you? I can just carry you. Not goin' far, just to the Grasslands."
"Hm." The princess nodded, but set the parchment aside anyway. "It's fine, I'll return to it."
"You sure?"
"Yes." Bonnibel stood and stretched, humming in satisfaction at the pop she coaxed from her spine.
"If you say so," Marceline shrugged, following as the candy golem strolled to the window. She waited for her to push the black-out curtain aside just enough to peak through before asking, "What's it looking like outside?"
Bonnibel's smile over her shoulder was apologetic. "Sorry, Marcy. The sun is going down, but it isn't quite vampire-safe yet."
"Laaaame."
"Be that as it may. Gloves and hat, please."
Marceline huffed, but bowed deep. "As m'lady wishes," she quipped in a familiar over-the-top accent. The gloves and hat were donned without further complaint, and once they were sky born the vampire had to reluctantly admit that she was thankful for them. It was brighter out than she had been anticipating, and though she yearned to shed her protective coverings and fly unencumbered she wasn't so reckless as to pretend she was so invulnerable as to risk True Death. Besides, even through the unwelcome barrier of the gloves she could feel Bonnibel in her arms, body heat radiating through the rubber on her hands and the fabric of her shirt. The princess was relaxed in her arms, trusting her oldest friend to keep her safe. A pink binder in her arms was her only charge, and she indulged in the freedom of the sky, watching the world below with a lazy sense of superiority. The flight was comfortable in its silence. Bonnibel didn't ask where they were going and Marceline didn't volunteer the information.
As promised the journey had been a short one, terminating in a small square of squat buildings forged in the heart of the Grasslands. Fresh walkways had been cut at each cardinal direction, just wide enough for a wagon or cart to pass without needing to tread through the thick grass at the sides. There were perhaps a dozen buildings, squat and tan and made of well-kept timber, though they varied wildly in their decoration style and color. Market stalls littered the rest of the square in no real order, shielding their occupants from the setting sun with colorful tarps or tapestries. In comparison the wooden signs that hung from the buildings were drab. Elaborately carved to fit whatever business they represented, but drab nonetheless. Plain and brown, just like the buildings themselves.
Marceline warranted no attention, but Bonnibel was a different story. She had seen fit to wear her crown and the vampire couldn't help but notice the looks it garnered. Curiosity and trepidation made for an interesting crowd, but no one stayed long enough to make conversation with the pair. At best someone would nod, or perhaps bow, mumble a diminutive greeting, and scamper away. From afar the square had seemed so boisterous and full of life, but now those voices were hushed. Each pedestrian stepped with care around the couple, offering a wide berth to keep their short journey unhindered. Marceline bit her cheek and regarded it all from the corner of her eye, unnerved by the spectacle.
She came here a lot, just as she went everywhere a lot. The layout and noises of the market wasn't dissimilar from any other she had been in in her long life: elaborate performances celebrating the humdrum of modernity, backdropped by an idyllic countryside that could not shake the allure of the close-knit community regardless of how it grew or who it attracted. Indeed, the setting was unique only in that it was so plain, so young. One did not call the Grasslands home because they desired safety, after all. Freedom had tempted all these souls into one lawless place, counting on numbers for safety. The plainness was just a sign that they had yet to plant roots within their new settlement, and did not yet know how to declare to the world that the piece they claimed of it was for them and them alone.
And now came a monarch in their mists. Marceline wore nothing to declare her rank in the best of times. It would get in the way of her bass, and in that way in the way of her own thirst for freedom. Anyone in the Grasslands who knew the vampire knew her as the punkest of all punk rockers and an outspoken critic of those who sacrificed their independence in the name of safety. A kindred spirit, a bringer of music and chaos and hedonistic joy. She thrived on that autonomy and encouraged one and all to do the same. She was One of Them.
Except.
Except she was here, now, at the side of not only a monarch, but Princess Bubblegum no less, who regarded her onlookers with polite detachment. Their marriage engagement was a matter for the public and evidently the public had yet to make up its collective mind on what to do. Here, at least, they regarded her with double-takes and nervous smiles, unaccustomed to seeing the demon in step with the candy golem. What did that make her? That, too, evidently remained to be seen. I'm not selling out, Marceline promised them. I'm not.
"Come on," Marceline said as she took Bonnibel's hand. With her free hand she jutted her thumb to one of the doors. "Let's head in and get this biz done with." She led Bonnibel to a tan door, decorated with five small windows arched into a fan across the top. Below it a concave rectangle was carved into the wood, from which an 'Open' sign decorated with a small blue paw print happily welcomed guests.
From his desk, neat and brown and simple and the very picture of utilitarian, Kim Kil Whan regarded the chime announcing his clients' arrival with miffed professionalism. On his desk the instruments of his trade lay ready and waiting: a black leather note binder, quills and ink pot, notary stamp, picture frame, and coffee mug sat on a coaster of petrified wood. It was late in the day but his suit was still starched and pressed, not even his tie askew. Marceline entered first, nearly throw the door open with her exuberance. The pup clenched his jaw, following the queen's movements and gestures, her wild gesticulation and free laughter. "Marceline," he greeted.
"Kim, my favorite pupster." Her smile betrayed sharp fangs. "Thanks a grockton for meeting with us like this."
Behind her, Princess Bubblegum shut the door softly. "Hello Kim," she smiled, "it's wonderful to see you again."
He rose from his desk and offered his paw to the pink monarch. "A pleasure as always, your majesty. Please, have a seat. How can I help you?"
Bonnibel sat. Marceline did not, opting instead to recline in the air. When her hand reached for one of the objects on Kim's desk, Bonnibel gave it a deterring swat without so much as a glance. "I'm not sure how much Marceline has apprised you of the situation-"
"Oh, right, I knew I forgot to do something-"
"-but this matter is one of sensitivity and expediency." As Princess Bubblegum explained the situation Kim did not react beyond nodding and humming thoughtfully. Under his beard he wore a frown of concentration, his eyes crinkling at the edges of his glasses. Notes were scribbled down, shorthand gibberish that Marceline could not decipher and did not bother to try. Once bored of the room she settled into the chair next to Bonnibel, coming to terms with the reality that the sooner this was over with the sooner they could leave.
"If I understand," Kim began once the princess concluded, "you need an adequate marriage contract that will be held valid not just to the Nightosphere and Candy Kingdom's legal standards, but to the satisfaction of the other kingdoms and territories of Ooo as a whole. Is that correct?" It was. "And, further, while the Candy Kingdom retained its original bylaws and trusts in anticipation of a royal wedding… no such document exists for the Nightosphere."
Marceline shrugged one shoulder. "It exists, I just have no idea where it is."
"Then, for all legal intents and purposes, it does not exist," Kim drawled. "Is it possible that an extant copy resides within the Nightosphere itself?"
"Eh…" Marceline's eyes fell to the leg of her chair, her hand finding preoccupation with rubbing the back of her neck. "I really doubt it. The Nightosphere doesn't really care about what the guy in charge does, and dad doesn't give a fig what I do in Ooo."
The more the words poured out, the more grey fingers dug into the armrest, the architects of half-moon indentations and strained, creaking wood. They poured out not with venom or furor but with a grumble, every vowel and consonant wriggling to be freed to form a coherent explanation. They were greater than the sum of their parts, especially before a well-trained audience. Kim, who was a professionally trained spectator to both willing and mandated litigation, saw the exhausted reluctance of an artist forced to repeat themself in an uncomfortable venue. Bonnibel, who wore her emotions below a second skin of repression, ached for an entirely different reason.
It was her hand that took Marceline's, slipping nimble fingers between the poor chair and calloused digits and separating the two before something broke. Kim watched the scene impassively, taking additional notes. "Yes, that does make sense. Princess Bubblegum, what are you two hoping to accomplish with the document you wished for me to draft in its stead?"
Marceline eyed the pup. "Hold up, Bon. We get confidentiality, right Kimmie?"
Kim sighed. "Yes, Marceline. We have been over this at length. With every other contract and agreement I have drafted for you."
The vampire tilted her head, then shrugged her ascent at the line of questioning. "Bon wants to make sure that whatever 'position'-" she emphasized the word with finger quotations "-I get through this can't be challenged by anyone else. Like, with legal gunk."
"Hm… in what way? Challenged, in that your marriage would be invalid?"
Bonnibel puffed out her cheeks, then released the breath. "Not… well, in a way, but not quite that." It was best, it seemed, to bite the proverbial bullet. "It is a necessary stipulation in Inter-Ooo law for a monarch to be married to another monarch in order to rise the rank to queendom. Marceline is legally a monarch, but her situation is… unique. I must make sure that this uniqueness cannot be challenged, so that my claim to my new stationed cannot be jeopardized."
"Ah," Kim nodded, "I see. That does clarify things." He did not react to Princess Bubblegum's professed scheme, and it was reason enough for Marceline to be glad she trusted him with this particular issue.
"Is that something you can do, Kimsie?," Marceline asked with a hopeful grin. He frowned at her, a scathing if silent reprimand at the nickname. The grin did not falter.
Kim did. "Yes," he sighed. "Most kingdoms of Ooo have their bylaws accessible as a matter of public record, should you know how to request and whom to ask. They can be used as adequate reference points for the bulk of what you're asking."
"Just the bulk?"
He pulled two fresh sheets of paper to the front. "Yes. There are a few points of clarification I will need from you both in order to make the appropriate modifications." For a minute he stopped speaking, making notes to himself on one sheet of paper, unintelligible scribbles that filled first the front, and then the back. A complex, legalese equation that made the demon's head hurt and eyes water with the speed in which it was vomited into reality. Then the second paper was pulled to the front and the pup's eyes trained on the older of the monarchs. "Marceline, what precisely do your titles and birthrights provide for you in terms of land acquisition, populace control, territory control, allies, standing agreements, and inviolable burdens?"
"…Wha?"
His eye twitched, and Marceline did not laugh. It was today's accomplishment. "What, where, and whom do you rule?"
"…Ohhhh. Right, gotcha." Her hand waved and her grin tempered down to a well-meaning smile. "Pretty easy, actually." Her thumb hooked to point at her chest, "Vampire queen, here. But, you know, 's'far as we know I'm the last one. And I better be, after all the junkballs I had to go through."
"And if you weren't?," he pressed."
It was an interesting question, actually, albeit a revolting one. Bile rose into her throat and she nearly spat onto the pup's pristine floor to purge her mouth of the memories. But he was family, really, if not distantly so. She had watched him grow up, had a hand in keeping him safe as a pupster. More importantly, or perhaps just more in-the-moment, he was helping her without judgment or question. So she swallowed her trauma and shuddered from the feel of slime working its way downwards into her heart guts. "Well…," she trailed off, so much quieter and more demure than before. Kim did not press her. Bonnibel squeezed her hand. Warm, Marceline mused. Her thoughts were separating from herself, drifting far away.
"Vampires are… we're kind of hard to explain, how we function. Like… the nit-natch." Her lips felt dry and she tried to lick them, but her tongue was dry, too. "There's this thing about vamps. We're all, like… creatures of rituals. We work because we think we have self-imposed rules to. The conflict or should and shouldn't kind of sustains us. It's… hard to explain… but…" The ceiling was where she found herself looking. It was easier to talk to it. "We're compelled a lot. Like instinct. To feed, to avoid everything that's…," her head shook, "sorry, rambling, I know. I guess, short answer? If a vampire did find its way to Ooo? It would know what I am. It wouldn't have a choice. And I wouldn't have a choice but to know if it's not actually…"
"…Doing as they're told?," Bonnibel offered.
Close. Not close enough, but… close. "Yeah," Marceline said instead, trying to ignore the ghostly smell of faded blood on her hands. It hurt less that way.
"Very well," Kim said. "An intrinsic hierarchal instinct that is, of all intents and purposes, self-correcting." He wrote that, or at least something, down on his notepad. "Now. The Nightosphere?"
Marceline's expression became wry. "Easy. Nightosphere's in a pocket dimension. There's no time, so by, like, physics-law there's no space, either. No allies, 'cause it's just the Nightosphere. No one gets in, no one gets out."
"Except you."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yup," she agreed slowly, popping the 'p' at the end. "I'm just that rockin'".
This, too, was noted before Kim's was turned to Princess Bubblegum. Unlike the demon, the candy golem had come to the meeting well prepared, her binder well organized - in chronological order no less - and color coded. Every amendment and edit was included, coupled with dates of ratification and preceding incidents. Bonnibel had seen fit to even identify the Candy Kingdom's closest trade allies, census, tenure, legal obligations, and a topographical map of her publicly declared territories.
Kim looked pleased.
"I will, of course, need that returned."
The pup nodded, looking his more reasonable client in the eyes. "Of course, your majesty. In the meantime, we have one more matter to review and then I can begin working on this agreement."
"Which is?"
"You both must decide the legal authority the other will be allotted." With a gesture of his paw he indicated towards Marceline. "If vampiric monarchy is magical in nature it seems impossible to grant legal authority for Princess Bubblegum over any vampire."
"Eh, they're all dead anyway. But… yeah. Even if any came back, best that I could do is make it real flippin' clear that messing with her is messing with me."
"I am disinclined to regard 'might equals right' as a legally viable offense… but these may be exceptional circumstances."
"Thanks!," Marceline clicked her tongue, gesturing at the pup with finger guns.
He ignored them. "Does the Nightosphere allow for shared rule, or distribution of power?"
The demon nearly said no, then seemed to catch herself. Rolling her eyes to the upper right corner of her skull she held the position with a pause, then spread her palm flat, rocking it back and forth. "Okay, kind of. So, there's nothing I can do right now. The Nightosphere is less a monarchy or kingdom than it is a really legally dubious pyramid scheme. If you're in charge you can draft whatever rules you want, as long as they don't conflict with other rules… unless, you know, you get rid of those first rules first…"
"Focus, Marcy," Bonnibel interrupted.
"Right, right, yeah, yeah. Short version is that the demon in charge could make a law that their spouse has some power or authority of some kind, but there's a ton of company bylaws about it and it wouldn't be anything doable unless I was in charge anyway."
Kim pondered this. "Could anyone take the position from you?"
"Nah," Marceline shook her head. "It's either me or dad. Gotta be someone from our bloodline, and it's whoever wears the amulet."
"No siblings?"
"Nope!"
"Very well. And should your father introduce a bylaw preventing such a duality of power-"
Marceline rolled her eyes. "One, he's got bigger probs. Two, there'd be ways around it. The Nightosphere sustains itself on pain and confusion, it was made for crud like that."
"Hm. Would you object to the addition of a clause in this document stating that in the event you take this position you would be obligated to mediate such a law in which you would be required to discuss governance of the Nightosphere?"
The vampire blinked, glancing at Bonnibel. No cue or guidance was to be had. The candy monarch was fixing the pup with an unreadable expression, neither irritated nor grateful. It was the same look she wore whenever she was in 'Assessment Mode', when her mind was busy running at top speed to try to work through some hypothetical problem. "You mean, am I okay with something that says if I did take over the business I'd have to actually make a law about Bon ruling, too?"
"Yes, Marceline."
"I guess, sure. I mean, she'd hate it there-"
"That isn't the point," Kim interjected as he noted Marceline's agreement. "Your agreement is enough."
"If you say so."
"This brings us to one last question. Your majesty," he looked at Princess Bubblegum, "your kingdom is less straightforward. In what way do you envision Marceline ruling at your side?"
The vampire almost choked on nothing, gagging at the question. It was a wholly involuntary action, and an embarrassing one to boot. But what could she do? It was one thing to visit to the Candy Kingdom, or even live there for a length of time. But to rule anything, to take responsibility for a population that exploded when terrified? She wasn't the kind of person to soothe the fears of a childlike mind and promise to check for monsters hiding under the bed.
She was the reason Bonnibel didn't need to allocate a civil defense budget.
"Is that necessary?," Princess Bubblegum asked. As Kim spoke the pink scientist had been straightening, tensing, until her eyes were narrowed and her voice was tight. Had she fur she would have been bristling.
Perhaps he did not sense the danger behind the chill in her voice, because Kim did not drop the question. "If Marceline is neglected as a part of the Candy Kingdom's monarchy it could constitute cause for a legitimate challenge to your stated goal of queendom. Further, should any injury or illness befall you, noting her as part of your Kingdom's hierarchy will allow her to carry on in your stead, without interference from outside parties," he recited, as if a memorized justification rather than a strange hesitation.
"…Yes," Bonnibel deflated and nodded slowly, "of course. You're correct."
"However, with that said, there is one hiccup." Marceline snorted. He ignored her. "'Queen' is not just a title, it is a rank. Legally speaking, two individuals within a hierarchy cannot share a rank without risking this document being invalid."
"I see…"
"Your current title is 'Princess'. If we presume your eventual title as 'Queen', then whatever title Marceline is referenced as currently must leave room for her to have subordinate power to both, but more than anyone else that may come with a legal claim to the throne or other area of the hierarchy. May I suggest 'queen-in-consort'?"
Marceline shot forward, gripping Kim's desk. Her eyes were alight with joy, her smile wide enough to display her fangs. "Queen-in-concert'?! FLIP YEAH!" Her fists pumped the air in triumph.
"No, Marceline-"
Bonnibel rested her hand on Kim's paw. "Just… just let her have this."
"…I'm not writing 'queen-in-concert'," Kim huffed.
"I know," she whispered, trying not to smile. "It's fine. Just… let her have this and don't correct her, please."
"…Very well. Against my better judgment, I will be noting it as such."
"Thank you. Marceline?" Her hand left the pup and moved to the vampire, steadying her private celebration. "I take it that's fine with you?"
"Natch. Best title ever."
Kim scoffed softly. "If you insist." He collected the papers, straightening them by patting the edges against his desk, rotating the pile, then repeating the gesture. "Thank you for your time, Your Majesty. Marceline."
"Do you have enough to work with?"
"I do. It may take a few days, but it will be ready in time for your wedding. I have a contract prepared for both of your signatures permitting me to draft it on your behalf. Once it is completed I will provide you with the finished draft for your purview and signatures and, upon approval, I will file it on your behalf."
The end of the meeting flew by in a whirlwind of paperwork and red tape. The contract was reviewed, signatures were affixed, pleasantries offered freely. Kim wished both women his deadpan but no less sincere congratulations. Bonnibel left the office first and Marceline let her, watching her with a warm smile. Until she was out of earshot. Then she rounded on the pup, her smile stretching into a predatory grin. "Payment on delivery, Kim."
"Of course."
With a wink Marceline followed Bonnibel out the door, politely shutting it behind her.
